Author's Note: So, this took forever; I'm sorry. Finals, and then moving, and then all sorts of other stuff including my laptop not having internet for a while (up to and including now; I had to find my flash drive to get this chapter up). There might be a few typos or formatting errors on here - odd stuff during the file transfer, I assume, as I just caught one now. I will try to have the next chapter up within a week; no promises, but my goal in general is to update at least weekly.
Well, okay. I've said enough for now. I hope you all like the chapter (and the story in general)! Reviews, positive or negative, are as always greatly appreciated! Enjoy!
Roughly an hour and a half later, Hermione awoke from her peaceful, well-deserved slumber. She had managed to escape from dreaming for the time, at least as far as she remembered, which was good – she was getting more than a bit tired of dreams that felt nearly as strenuous as being awake. She realized that she had come very near to sleeping through dinner, though she didn't feel nearly hungry enough to justify facing everyone. A trip down to the kitchens sounded infinitely more appealing, as she wasn't exactly in the most social of moods – but then, she wasn't supposed to even know where the kitchen was, and would certainly not be able to explain herself were she caught sneaking back with a sandwich.
She knew herself well enough to realize that if she skipped dinner tonight, sleep would become nearly impossible for her later. So she got out of bed, smoothed down her wrinkled clothing (with little success), and smoothed down her frizzy hair (with even less success). Having given up on her appearance as a lost cause for the time being – and, realistically, forever – she glanced in the mirror one last time and stepped out into the common room.
Of course, because that's just how her life seemed to work at this point, the instant she stepped out of her room she was met with Tom Riddle. He wasn't standing directly in front of her door, or even anywhere near where she would have to walk – she thanked him mentally for not intruding upon her personal space. It was obvious, however – to her if no one else – that he had been waiting for her; though on practically the other side of the common room, his face and body were oriented completely towards the point of her emergence. Even had she possessed the presence of mind to quickly sneak back into her dormitory, skip dinner, and not deal with him right then, it would have achieved nothing but to raise his suspicions; he knew the moment the door opened that it could only be she who was coming out, and she had no excuse, believable or not, as to why she would change her mind about dinner.
She was flattered by his attention. She had always noticed that he had been giving her a rather absurd amount of special treatment, but was usually too annoyed and frustrated by his seemingly constant presence to appreciate how much of a sacrifice he was probably making. In order to spend such a ridiculous amount of time either around her or waiting for her, he really couldn't be doing too much else. Who knew how long he had been out here, silently watching for her to come out, probably wondering if she was going to come out at all. If she hadn't come out, he probably wouldn't have gone to dinner at all. He probably would have kept waiting for her, offering to show her to the kitchens or something equally considerate.
If he wasn't so damn evil, Hermione thought, he really would be quite perfect.
Trying not to be incredibly and unexplainably rude, she put a big smile on her face a second after seeing him. "Good evening, Tom!" she said in a cheery voice; she wasn't sure how transparent the good mood was, but couldn't justify not at least trying to seem happy.
She wondered briefly if he was confused by her actions, her sudden shifts in mood. Merlin, she must've seemed out of her mind by now. But he didn't seem incredibly likely to turn his back on her as of yet, so she would take it as a good thing. "Evening, Jane," he replied. "Care for some dinner?"
"I'm ravenous, since you ask," she replied with a fair amount of exaggeration.
"Just in time then; it'll be almost over, but there's still time to eat something."
She smiled again. "Excellent," she answered. She considered for a moment, and decided to let him know that his chivalry had not gone unnoticed. "Have you been waiting all this time for me?" she asked.
He smiled slightly and Hermione thought his cheeks might've turned half a shade pinker, though she was probably imagining it. "I wasn't sure if you were planning on coming out," was his only response. From what she'd gathered from years of hanging around Ron and Harry, that translated roughly into: "Yes, but you weren't supposed to notice, and I wasn't being nice I promise."
"I was taking a nap," she explained, "and I didn't wake up until just now. Thank you very much," she added.
"There's no need to thank me, of course," he responded. "As Head Boy, I obviously couldn't let our newest student miss dinner, especially without knowing whether something was wrong."
She let it drop, sensing that he didn't want his motives explored further. She was getting better at that, at reading his behaviour, not provoking him.
"Shall we, then?" she asked after a moment, trying to cover up the awkwardness of leaving a conversation unfinished.
"Certainly." He held his arm out for her, and she took it. She wasn't certain whether the gesture was common of the times, but it was pleasant regardless, and she did as was expected of her.
Walking into the Great Hall with Tom was a daunting concept in theory. In practice, however, it was not nearly so intimidating. After all, with dinner almost over the Great Hall was nearly empty. That, combined with the fact that she had been spending almost all of her time – free or otherwise – with him made it seem positively… natural. Whether it was a good thing that it seemed natural to be around Tom was a completely different matter, and she chose not to explore it; she had a feeling what the answer would be, and wasn't quite sure she was up to another long introspective session revolving around events and actions she didn't really have much choice on.
Dinner was a pleasant affair. It was mildly awkward as always, but she was getting used to that, and it wasn't so much that she couldn't enjoy whatever conversation they happened to be having.
"So you were asleep?" asked Tom after a few moments of a vaguely awkward silence.
"Yes. I never meant to sleep so long, though. I suppose I was more tired than I realized."
"Well you have had a busy week, with adjusting to the school and such," he replied. "It's understandable that you would be a bit weary."
"Hopefully I'll be back to normal tomorrow. I still have to finish the transfiguration essay, and it just won't do if I lose half my day again."
"You'll be working with me, though." That was right, she recalled, after the Great Ink Spill of the early afternoon. "Just say the word, and I won't let you go until you've finished."
Were he anybody besides Tom Riddle, Hermione would have been expecting a wink at the end of that sentence. As it stood, she wasn't entirely sure whether she should laugh. She decided to avoid it, however, on the likelihood that he was being serious. If he was serious, she should probably be more alarmed, but… At this point, really, was there any purpose to be served by getting scared?
"I may have to take you up on that, Tom," she replied.
She looked away from him for a moment, and around at the rest of the Great Hall. She was startled by the lack of people – they had been left apparently alone in the huge room.
The alarm that Hermione had managed to stifle earlier began to emerge suddenly, manifesting as a sense of great unease and a touch of nausea. It would be superb, she thought, if she could get her emotions under at least some vague sort of control.
"It's getting late," she said. "I think I should head back to bed, before I wake up too much to get to sleep again."
She pushed her chair back and stood up, not waiting for his response, not wanting to encourage any sort of delay. She was starting to feel more and more like she was going to be sick, and felt that leaving the room would probably help the sensation to subside.
She began to walk towards the exit nearest the Slytherin common room, still as gracefully as ever, refusing to let her mental unsteadiness show in his presence. She had almost reached the exit when she heard Tom Riddle's voice one more time than she had intended to for the night.
"Wait."